


Wait Till My Brother Gets Home

by Thoughts Like A Minefield (Incog_Ninja)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biting, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Hair-pulling, Marathon Sex, Name-Calling, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Spanking, Spitroasting, Threesome - F/M/M, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 20:10:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19730920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Thoughts%20Like%20A%20Minefield
Summary: PROMPT: Um, how didn't I see you demanding Sam prompts?! Angry sex: hair pulling and biting please and thank you.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stunudo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stunudo/gifts).



He seemed so shy at the bar – quiet, passive. His brother was gregarious and flirtatious before he left us alone, claiming that he needed to get some sleep; but I didn’t miss ironic wink he threw Sam before he left.

Sam’s not shy, though, and he sure as _Hell_ isn’t passive.

“Shit,” he growls. “You like that? Like me pullin’ your hair?” He grits his teeth as he hisses the words and yanks my hair like he’s riding a bull. “You’re so wet and takin’ me so well.”

He pumps into me from behind, sweating. _God_ , I have never been fucked like this in my life.

“You were such a fucking flirt with my brother,” he says, changing his angle and making me shout. I drop my head between my forearms and try to catch my breath. “But he’d _never_ fuck you like this – not the way you want it.”

He smacks my ass then. His tone of voice is cruel and biting, and I feel so debased. I feel like he’s angry like I’m being punished. And I fucking love it.

“I bet he’s even better,” I groan, bucking back against him. “I bet his dick’s bigger and he’d fuck me harder.”

That really gets Sam going. “You don’t know shit about my brother,” he says. “But maybe I should’ve brought him with us so you could take us both.” He pushes me flat to the floor, planks his body over me then hammers into me hard.

I gasp for air under him. He’s hitting my g-spot over and over. It’s outstanding and I’m seeing spots. Then, suddenly, I’m coming deeper and harder than I ever have. It’s almost painful. I can hear Sam laughing.

“That’s right, dirty girl,” he says. “You love the thought of being fucked by brothers. You take my cock in your ass while Dean pounds your pussy?”

I’m still fluttering as he pulls out then rolls me to my back, grabs the backs of my thighs and pushes until I’m bent in half, knees to my chest. He slides back inside me hard and deep and buries his face in my throat.

“Dean loves pussy,” he whispers in my ear, and I clench around him. “He’d eat you out while I fucked your throat… you’d come so many times.”

Sam picks up his pace again as he pulls the shell of my ear into his mouth, kissing and nipping at my throat. “We’d take turns,” he says, grinding over me. “Me and Dean, we’d fuck you unconscious.”

I gasp. “I’m gonna come again.”

“Good girl,” he says with a smile in his voice, right before his teeth sink into my skin, pushing me over the edge once more.


	2. Chapter 2

I’m just getting in the shower when I hear their voices – Dean, hushed and rushed, and Sam, placating and soothing his brother. It makes my skin vibrate, that tone. Everything about Sam makes me feel light and clean.

After screwing me six ways to Sunday, Sam told me to take a shower. I had no reason to argue; it was apropos to the evening’s theme. Plus, it was a much-needed break from the overwhelming sensations that accompany being thoroughly and fully fucked. 

There are a lot of ways to come, and Sam seems to know all about them and how to deliver them. He seems to like doing it, too – _inflicting_ pleasure and shining bright pain with precision and fortitude. I’m preparing myself for what Dean has to offer now.

I close my eyes and draw a deep breath then let it out slow and loud. The sound of my sigh bounces off the walls and sends ripples over my skin. When I finally hear the tension shift from the conversation outside the door, I focus on stepping inside the tub. 

The hot, trickly and prickly spray of water stings the rug abrasions on my knees, elbows, and back as it soothes my bruises and tired muscles. I get my hair wet and sudsy, drag the miniature bar of soap over my arms and legs and belly, try to lather as much luxury into the experience as possible. 

I don’t want to think about anything – that’s what I like so much about Sam and tonight. I haven’t brooded over getting fired from my job today or my 90-day overdue electric bill or the broken lock on my apartment door.

Sam’s created a cocoon where I’m safe and sane and not a fucking disaster of an adult. 

When I finally rinse free of bubbles and pull back the curtain, their voices are closer to the door and relaxed. I hear glass clinking glass as I pat my wet skin and hair to damp then use all the lotion.

Men always swoon over my skin – _it’s so soft and it smells so good_.

Sam told me he wanted to see his fingerprints all over it.

Before finally leaving the steam-filled bathroom, I wrap the small, wet towel around myself and comb my fingers through my hair. My brain is ahead of – or behind – the progression my body is working through. I know this because I feel calm emotionally, confident even; but I am straight-up trembling as I pull the warped bathroom door open, grating the edges against the frame and loudly heralding my presence.

Sam’s eyes quickly rake over me, head to toe to hips, fingertips to shoulder, shoulder to lips.

Dean watches Sam and I like a slow-motion tennis match goer before clearing his throat. “Gina, I’m Dean,” he says, pulling my attention from Sam’s determined gaze. 

“Hi,” I reply, sounding as breathy and light as I feel. I wait while they evaluate me, a small smile twisting Sam’s lips as his jaw works like he’s chewing gum, but he isn’t. 

I can feel his teeth on my skin.

“Drop the towel,” he says without hesitation, and I obey in the same fashion.

It’s quiet for a moment, Dean resting on the couch, sipping his beer, and Sam horse race-ready on the edge of one of the beds. Then Dean breaks the silence.

“You okay with this, Gina?” Dean’s voice is smooth and direct. He’s succinct, like his brother, but there’s another quality. Dean has an openness and warmth about him that makes me want to crawl into his lap and curl around him, purr.

I look him in the eyes and nod, smile and walk slowly toward him. “More than,” I answer. “You’re both hot,” I continue as I swing one leg over his lap to sit astride him, still dewy from the shower, still wet from Sam.

Dean sets his beer aside and watches me, arms spread wide across the back of the couch. He lets me touch him, run my hands over thin cotton stretched by and draping solid shoulders and torso. 

He’s easier than Sam, more relaxed. He’s thicker, though, denser. He looks like he’d be jackhammer fast and brutal, but he’s calm and steady, sitting under me. I want to know what he’s capable of with all that power behind his frame. The room is compressed with alpha-male realness and my need for its affirmation.

“Kiss him,” Sam directs from somewhere behind me. He’s no longer sitting, but he isn’t in my line of sight. 

I do as I’m told, tentative at first, trying different angles and pressure. A curling rush of air surrounds and cools me before I feel Dean’s arms warm me and his fingertips graze my hips, waist, and rib cage. We sigh together as he liquefies and is made solid again under me.

“See, sweetheart,” Dean begins quietly against my lips. “That before with Sammy was just a warm-up.” 

Dean kisses like fire, rolling and thick, engulfing and hot. I might be sweating. I’m slick everywhere.

“This’s the main event,” Sam says from behind me, looming. He isn’t touching me, but I feel him there nonetheless, energy, body temperature, pulsating aura.

I don’t wait for instruction anymore. I drag Dean’s t-shirt up and off his head and shoulders. When I drop it to the side and begin to explore his body, trace the tattoo that matches his brother’s, he does the same to me.

“My brother says you like being roughed up a little,” Dean continues with a chuckle, caressing my breasts and thumbing my nipples as I play in his lap. 

I touch him and get wetter by the second. I get off on exploring new territory.

“I’m not gonna do that, though,” he says, and there’s the essence of foreboding in his tone. As if I wouldn’t want his body against mine any way he wants it. He says it as if to say, _I’m not gonna give you what you want, but I’ll give you what you need_.

“Opposite sides of the same coin,” I say, looking him in the eye again. 

Dean has beautiful eyes. He has beautiful skin. You could dissect him a million different ways and each piece would be perfectly beautiful. 

“Good analogy.” Dean smirks and nods, slowly dragging one hand down between my legs. “Can’t be separated,” he answers, and I feel Sam’s hands on my shoulders, guiding me to kiss Dean again.

I get lost in feeling them feeling me. I kiss Dean while he and his brother take turns fingering me, stroking my skin, praising me. 

Sam’s wrapped around me from behind, hunched over, one fist buried in the couch cushion beside Dean and my pretzeled bodies. His mouth and other hand leave marks on my smooth skin.

“Gina,” Sam whispers, hooking two fingers inside me and squeezing my whole cunt in his hand, secure and tight. “You were such a good girl for me.” He kisses my throat and my shoulder, drags his hand from between my legs up, wet and warm, to knead and tease one of my breasts. “Now show my brother how good you are.”

I nod and hum, breathe and let them move me.

“You’re so soft,” Dean says, eyes flicking to his brother with intent. “So soft, and we’re both so hard.”

Underneath sweat and leather is the scent of the same shampoo and soap I used just moments before and under that lies something as old as the earth and its layered minerals and elements. Traces of each brother linger in the air around us and enrapture me.

These men are at once primitive and modern, timeless. They’re so real and surreal. If this is a dream, if I created these men from my desire and the recesses of my mind, I don’t want to wake.

“Help me get her up here,” Dean says to Sam, effortlessly spinning himself and me, lying back on the couch where he was sat, impatient, one booted foot on the floor. “Take a test drive, princess,” Dean says with a wink, twisting my fingers with his as Sam maneuvers me over Dean’s mouth then moves to the other end of the couch.

As I sink onto Dean, his firm, plush lips, his thick, wet tongue, slipping and sliding into me, Sam pushes his jeans to the carpet. He braces one knee on the couch as he grips the back of my neck and fluidly pulls, pushes until he’s gliding into my mouth.

“Remember what I said, Gina?” Sam asks, threading long fingers with my hair and setting a rhythm, while his brother puts his whole fucking beautiful face into the act. “I said we’d fuck you unconscious and I wasn’t kidding.”

I brace one hand on the arm of the couch around Sam’s hip. Dean breathes life into me, holding my hips in place with his rough and gentle hands while he tongue-fucks me, groans under me. My belly floods with a wave that feels like cooked molasses as I grip the base of Sam’s cock to further steady myself.

Sam persistently works himself down my throat. I’ll be hoarse tomorrow, throat swelled. I’ll be bruised and abraided, sore for walking. I almost like the lingering pain days later more than the actual fucking.

But these men are doing virtuoso level work of keeping me in the moment. I’m not focused on anticipating the delicious after-aches and pains; I’m focused on Dean’s face between my legs and both brothers’ sets of hands and Sam’s third leg, railing my throat.

I squeal around Sam’s length when Dean curls two fingers inside me and _rub, rub, rubs_ that spot until I’m crying and jerking over him. Then Sam drags out, strings of spit and pre-cum connecting us as I cough and gasp for air.

“Be a good girl and come for Dean, Gina,” Sam breathes heavy and rough, pumping himself, walking around to my side.

I fall forward on hands and knees, can’t do anything else. All I can do is take what Dean’s giving. His arms are steel ropes around my thighs, and I come hard and wet just like Sam told me to do as Sam spurts on my back.

Dean hums under me again. He holds me, moves with me until we’re back where we started. I hiss when I try to settle into his lap.

“Hmm, sore?” he asks, gently cupping my cunt with his hand as Sam slowly cleans my back with a warm, wet cloth.

I relax into Dean’s grip, then, his big, warm hand covering my most sensitive bundle of nerves. I nod and let my head drop to his shoulder. “I still want you, though,” I speak quietly. “Inside me.”

Dean grins. “Sammy?” he asks, moving to stand with me wrapped around him. 

“Go ahead,” Sam replies, opening another beer. He’s pulled his jeans back on and has slumped into an armchair a few feet from the bed where Dean finally sets me. “I’ll watch for a bit.”

“Scoot back,” Dean says quietly, quickly shucking his boots and jeans, watching me with those forest fire eyes. Then he smoothly crawls over me and blankets my body, nestles himself in the cradle of my hips. 

For a while he just kisses me, propped up on his elbows, holding my face in his hands. With every touch, I feel lighter than ever, like I could float away if they weren’t tethering me in place.

Dean starts to touch me again and I’m a mess – sloppy and sticky. He groans and brings his fingers to my mouth. “Taste,” he says, rubbing his fingertips along my bottom lip. “Just like sun-ripe fruit off the vine, Sammy.”

I snake my tongue out to do as I’m told. I can feel how hard he is at my entrance. I’m throbbing, puffed-up, and I still want him. 

I suck his fingers clean of the tang and brine, and then I beg. “Please.”

“Damn, you weren’t kiddin’,” Dean says, resituating himself, lining up the wide head of his cock and slipping inside. “She’s insatiable. You should see how shiny and puffy this pretty, pink pussy is, man.” 

“Told ya,” Sam says, leisurely sipping his beer. 

“But you still want this, huh?” Dean says, looking down at me, slowly inching his way inside – forward and back, forward and back – until he’s snugged in tight and kissing me again.

“Mhmm,” I answer without needing to and try to open my legs wider, but he holds me still. 

“Just relax,” he says, rotating his hips, grinding over me. 

I do. I’m boneless and breathless, feeling his body against mine just the way I wanted. 

“Think you can come again?” he asks, brushing noses and lips, breathing me in.

“If anybody can make me, it’s one or both of you,” I answer. 

“I gotcha,” Dean says, brushing my hair back from my face and kissing me again before bracing himself on his fists. He keeps grinding in between slow, shallow thrusts. 

The thing about shallow thrusts and a swollen pussy is… well, it’s _fantastic_.

I’m hot and cold and out of my head. I feel like he’s slowly splitting me open – not from force, but from pure friction, laser beams, power of divinity. 

God, I’m losing control of _everything_.

I start to come again and feel Dean tense and push in deep and slow. He groans on the drag out and skids back in, shaking. “Fuck, keep comin’, Gina,” he breathes with each deep, slow thrust.

There are tears streaking my face and lava scorching my thighs and insides when Dean comes roaring with heat.


End file.
